


The Jealous Moon

by Kaerith



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alcoholic Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, M/M, Pining, Protective Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Protective Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25841575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaerith/pseuds/Kaerith
Summary: What Sebastien had written about Joe and Nicky was tinged with wistful envy:"I have never before met two people whose bodies and souls dwelt so close and comfortably together. They are rarely of a single mind or temperament, but complementary in every action and word. Their love cannot be overlooked once one has seen it, it is visible in every glance and gesture and word that is intently spoken. Sometimes it seems that their world exists only between they two and everything and -one on the outside are mere shadows. If I cannot have a similar partner in eternal life, then I would be pleased to be a protector of them and shield them from the shadow-world that is not."It was beautiful, despite the misspellings and crooked words of a writer who was often drunk when he lost his grip on his emotions and bled them onto a page.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 40
Kudos: 399





	The Jealous Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: [Booker/Joe/Nicky, watching out for the husbands](https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1106.html?thread=80466#cmt80466)

Copley knows, which probably means that Andy knows. But it's technically not breaking the rules if Booker doesn't make contact. He doesn't plan on making contact. 

He is cleaning up his own mess. Copley will text him if there is any intel on Merrick scientists or any other pharma assholes trying to hunt down his (estranged) team. 

Joe and Nicky are good at hiding their tracks, but they get soft. Distracted. So utterly wrapped up in each other that they tend to forget to keep their heads down and avoid making routines and patterns. Not content to bask in their love for each other, they fall in love with the food of a particular restaurant at least once a month and can't prevent themselves from becoming regulars until they have to relocate. Joe has a current and inexplicable addiction to Allbirds right now, and will probably order a damn replacement pair of shoes with the same alias to be delivered to their current location for fuck's sake, so yeah, they kind of need a babysitter until Book knows they have their heads back in the game. 

Book's just going to watch from afar. No contact. No infiltration or planting bugs in their sub-let flat. The Ethiopian restaurant they are currently infatuated with is infuriatingly within eyesight of the front door to their building. Booker has bugged the hostess' stand in case anyone comes to inquire about their customers. (If Book can hear snatches of Nicky and Joe's conversations it is only because the men tend to prefer the table by the front window which just happens to be right next to the stand. Joe's obsession with kitfo is kind of nauseating, and his attempts to convert Nicky to accepting the merits of eating raw meat when one is not starving in the wilderness are also failing to convince Booker.) 

Fort Lauderdale is a hellhole in Booker's opinion, but one interracial gay couple doesn't stand out among all the other vacationing and local white and sun-bronzed young men. Joe looks younger with his beard shaved and his hair growing out into curls, and Nicky has never been able to look very old so they are blending in well. Their neighbors think they are a newlywed couple that have come to enjoy their freedom in Florida after escaping homophobic families, and easily accept their pleas to help them lie low and requests to let them know if anyone comes asking around for them. Booker is torn about whether hiding in such a well-known LGBTQ community is smart because of the inhabitants' natural wariness of strangers, or stupid because Joe and Nicky have flaunted their relationship so blatantly in front of the Merrick people that anyone searching for them will target these communities first. 

Trouble doesn't reach them for eight months. They have moved on to an American style diner where Nicky likes to get bastardized versions of crepes for brunch when Booker sees an out of place tourist bus pull into a too-small parking lot three blocks away and discharges a bunch of fit men and women wearing sturdy shoes that clash with their shorts and casual shirts. Book texts Copley to pass on an immediate bug out order, but Copley doesn't respond. As the minutes tick down, Books grinds his teeth as the suspects approach their home. Three of the guys have sweated through their shirts enough to reveal their holsters to Booker's eyes through the binoculars (amateurs, definitely a corporate security force used to working inside). 

Damn the rules! Booker would pray as he dials Joe's phone, but he only has time to swear. "Fourteen-man security team approaching from north, both sides of street. Corporate, dressed to blend in, watch for their shoes." He hangs up and glances at his sniper rifle but resists uncasing it and picks up the binocs again. The security force arrays itself strategically around the building. Book can't see what's going on in the back, but the camera on the rear exit doesn't show Nicky or Joe leaving or any of the take-down team going inside of the building, so he has to assume it's a more subtle kidnapping from the street than a dramatic indoor assault. 

If he knew that Nick and Joe had gotten away safely, Book might have enjoyed watching the undercover goons stay at their posts while trying to nonchalantly maintain their tourist disguises, but the locals start getting curious after thirty minutes. An expensive car parks illegally by the front door after 45 minutes, and two men in suits flash badges at one of the building's residents who allows them inside the building. Booker knows these fakers wouldn't stand a chance against either one of his brothers-in-arms, and there aren't any muzzle flashes lighting up the curtains and none of the security schmucks scramble to action, and the suit clowns come back out after fifteen minutes and drive away. The fake tourists hardly bother keeping up their act as they pull back to their bus. 

Booker finally puts the binocs down and massages the rings pressed into his skin as he picks up his phone and sends a "WTF???" message to Copley. "Dois-je tout faire moi-même?" He mutters. 

"I didn't see you do anything." 

Booker tips his head back, closes his eyes, and sighs. "If you tell me you were ahead of me and knew they were coming before I called, I'll fuck off to another continent because then I won't have to worry so much." 

Nicky is the one who admits, "We've known that you've been around for months. We didn't know about the ambush. Thanks for your call." 

Booker doesn't turn around. Didn't expect a thank you. Is still anticipating an ultimatum about stalking them and a bullet to the head. "Copley's emergency line is apparently bullshit, but your emergency exit was undetectable. I have no idea how you got out of your building." 

"Please tell me you didn't put transmitters in our bedroom again, like you did in Rome?" Joe says. 

"Never even went inside your building," Booker says honestly. "Believe me, I learned my lesson after that once." He did. Fifty years later and he still had no desire to surveil them in their bedroom ever again, prank or not. 

"Convince me you weren't selling us out again." All the levity had left Joe's voice. Book wondered briefly if his own HK45 was pointed at his head or if Joe had brought his own weapon. He didn't care enough to turn and find out. 

"Joe?" 

"Not now. I want an answer." 

" _Joe,_ " Nicky says again. 

"I didn't. I swear. I just wanted to clean up my mess," Booker says. 

"Can't leave us loose ends hanging in the wind?" Joe sneered. 

"I'm sorry. You don't believe me, but I am. I was just trying to keep you safe." 

"Yeah? What miracle made you change your mind, traitor?" 

"Joe. You should see this." 

"For God's sake, Nicky! What?" 

Booker's body went cold. He didn't have much in this vacant office. Laptop, sleeping bag, duffle. A few precious personal items he tried to hang on to. There wasn't much that could have gotten Nicky's interest. 

Joe stomps over and throws Booker's journal on the floor at his knees, letting a handful of photos slide out into an array of memorialized moments. They weren't sorted by date. All the ones on top were of Joe and Nicky. From the 1930s and onward. The ones Booker loved looking at the most. 

"Your deal with Copley went wrong in France?!" Joe hissed, his eyes narrowed in pure rage. "Wanted me out of the way? So you could comfort Nicky while you pretended to search for me?!" 

Sebastien knew he wouldn't be able to convince Joe of anything. Not after spectacularly blowing up bridges and threatening their relationship. He wasn't going to cry like a child. "Cover your tracks. You belong together. I'm sorry I almost fucked it all up with my... useless attempt at suicide. My jealousy. I've dragged us all into a game with powerful players, and I just needed to make sure you two kept your heads down and maintained situational precautions." Hopefully Nicky at least was listening. "Maybe Copley can figure out how you were made and by whom, and you can pay better attention." 

Joe shoved the gun's mouth against Booker's temple. "Always better than us, huh? _You're_ the weak one, le Livre. Always have been." 

The bullet didn't hurt nearly as much as Joe's words. 

* * *

When Book opened his eyes again Joe and Nicky were gone. So was his journal and their pictures. 

* * *

It took over five years for Joe's anger at Booker to cool. Nicky knew he needed time and kept what he had learned to himself. It had hurt, but Nicky understood it was just a fraction of the emotional pain and stress Sebatian had endured for two hundred years. 

Joe still wasn't as forgiving toward Booker as Nicky would have wanted, but he had to shove the book into Joe's hands anyway. "Read it. Booker's implant hasn't moved for three weeks and Copley needs us to check it out. We're leaving in the morning." 

* * *

Sebastien likes the Northern Lights. This far north the night takes up most of the day this time of year. Makes it easy to just lie back and watch the aurora until he slept until he opened his eyes to watch it again. The cold was good, too. Clean. Keeps everything quiet. He likes to hear the snowflakes hit the snow in soft pats. Sometimes he could hear wolves. There were no planes cutting up the sky and the silence in winter. 

He doesn't dream because he doesn't sleep. Hardly even moves except to clear his view of the heavens. It's enormous and feels so, so close even though eternal rest is still unreachable. 

This isn't too bad, though. As close to _requiescat_ -ing in _pace_ as a damned immortal can get. Much more serene than Quynh's unfortunate resting place. If it weren't for all the drowning it would probably be peaceful at the bottom of the sea, too. 

* * *

Joe had seen two people in Booker's journal: Booker, the capable realist with his mind focused on their mission and Sebastien, the man who had lost everything and was scraping for something to live for. 

Booker's straight-lettered English entries were rare and only chronicled the disguised facts of contacts and missions in a personal cipher: "Black Bishop called for pest control in the beg. month of leaves where spiced tea was 1st sipped. The Piper will lead the children to the hill where they plan to slay the ghosts of rats." It's clever. No dates or names or places in case the journal falls into the wrong hands. 

Sebastien wrote in his native tongue, penned in the rough calligraphy his schools had barely had the chance to refine during the turbulent political times of his childhood. Everything was undated and rambling: memories of his life before the war that had granted him his immortality, the stubborn insistence of holding on to his family as time tore them apart, the guilt and grief and anger as his sons spat vicious words on their deathbeds in their fear and jealousy. Eventually the content turned more to the present as Sebastien tried to move on. He noted the virtues and peccadilloes of their foursome, individuals' likes and dislikes. 

What he had written about Joe and Nicky was tinged with wistful envy: "I have never before met two people whose bodies and souls dwelt so close and comfortably together. They are rarely of a single mind or temperament, but complementary in every action and word. Their love cannot be overlooked once one has seen it, it is visible in every glance and gesture and word that is intently spoken. Sometimes it seems that their world exists only between they two and everything and -one on the outside are mere shadows. If I cannot have a similar partner in eternal life, then I would be pleased to be a protector of them and shield them from the shadow-world that is not." 

It was beautiful, despite the misspellings and crooked words of a writer who was often drunk when he lost his grip on his emotions and bled them onto a page. Amongst the handful of mentions about Nicky and Joe there was one entry towards the end that deviated from the admiration of an outsider: "The beauty of them tempts me with what I can never have. They are whole. Complete. Darkness and light. Either of them are flawed individuals, but together they ascend to divinity. Our eldest is the balance of all things, both nurturing and merciless. I know not what I am to them except a child. My mortal life was spent defining myself through my relationships... I am lost without being known as Son or Husband or Father. These ancient beings that surround me have no spaces for me to fill beyond ally or friend." 

* * *

"He should be here." 

"Looks like we have to dig." 

* * *

It's agony to come back to life. Every single cell unfreezing and repairing as his body thaws out. When his brain starts coming back online he realizes that he is being held down in scalding water. He struggles but his body isn't working right. 

"Shh shh shh." Nicky makes soothing sounds as he strokes Sebastien's face. "We're here. Just warming you up." 

Coming back to life always hurts, but this also makes his heart ache and feel heavy. He wants the cold back but Nicky refuses. Nicky calls Joe over and they haul him up and help him balance on tingling feet while they dry him off. He keeps his eyes closed, not wanting to see their faces. 

"Your hair has gotten shaggy, _cucciolo,_ " Nicky says playfully as he scruffs a towel through it. 

The gentle teasing makes Sebastien break. He can't stop tears from leaking. He _hates_ them for this. _"Je voudrais mourir,"_ he manages to stutter out in a cracking, creaking voice. 

_"Je connais, Sebastien._ We understand. It's not your time yet." Joe wraps himself around Sebastien and holds him for a minute before he moves and helps him get into a bed. He cuddles up on Sebastien's right and Nicky slides in on his left. It's something Sebastien has only experienced a handful of times but has longed for hundreds of times. His brain only registers that Nicky is naked after several moments. 

"This isn't how I wanted it to be." He's still using his first language, his mind muddled and slow. 

Nicky presses a kiss to his temple and curls around him. _"Dormire, caro mio."_

* * *

Booker wakes up still wrapped up in their arms, between them. His mind is clear. Used to the softness of snow, the edges of the room seem harsh and more dangerous than the cold. The warmth is stifling. 

"Let me go," he mumbles. _I don't deserve this after everything I did to you._

"We did back in London," Nicky replies. "That was a mistake. Maybe we do not let you go now and piece you back together." 

_"Ego sum nihil."_

Joe fucking chuckles. It's almost silent, but Book can feel the small concussive bursts of his body. "Even I, the heathen, knows what that means. And you are not, _ya amar._ " 

"I don't know what that means," Booker admits. 

" _Lune._ He calls you his moon," Nicky says, nuzzling into Booker's hair. 

That makes Book's mind stall, trying to interpret why Joe would say that. 

"Nicolo has been my sun for centuries. Steadfast and sharing his divine light upon all the facets of my soul. I had forgotten that the moon is just as constant, stimulating the tides in both pleasant laps and tumultuous waves. I kept my face turned to the sun and was blinded to the gentler effects from the moon and simply raged against the unignorable tsunami. Now I promise to be a diligent fisherman and dictate my life by both the sea and the sky." 

Booker is fluent in English and understands most of what Joe is saying but is slow to pick it apart and understand. 

"Sebastien doesn't have the experience one needs to prune your flowery language, Yusuf," Nicky chides with an audible smile. 

"Ah," Joe sighs dramatically. He tightens his arms around Booker. "My sky can host the moon as well as the sun and be more beautiful for the presence of both." 

"Incurable romantic," Nicky pretends to scoff, like Booker's heard him complain hundreds of times before. But this time... is Joe spouting his poetry about _him?_

"I betrayed you," Book argues. "You and Andy and Nile justifiably banished me. My penance is to feel every minute of another century trickle past in agony at being alone." 

"That's not what any of us needed," Nicky says. "If the cause that led you to Copley and Merrick was your alienation from your new family while you mourned the loss of your old one, we are to blame as well. More pain isn't going to fix our family, only love will heal us." 

_"Je t'aime mon frère, ma lune,"_ Joe murmurs with a kiss to his cheek. 

"Our eyes and arms are open for you, Sebastien," Nicky says, turning Book's head to meet his gaze. His thumb gently wipes away the stream of tears from one cheek. "Love us as you have longed to do and we will give you back everything we can, whole-heartedly." 

Nicky looks so kind and soft and fond, his attention all on Sebastien and his eyes and mouth so vibrant and alive with color. Sebastian cannot resist pressing his lips against Nicky's pretty pink ones. He keeps it chaste because he knows Joe is watching from over his shoulder, and when he reluctantly pulls away Joe shifts them so that he can roll Sebastien onto his back and press back against his side. 

"My spirit fills with affection rather than jealousy," Joe says to Sebastien's timid eyes. 

"Fuck off with the poetry, Joe, and kiss the poor man," Nicky teases. 

Joe looks up briefly in pretended annoyance, but does as instructed. His mouth is more demanding than Nicky's, and his beard- regrown since Florida but in a new style- tangles against the mess of Booker's own neglected scruff. 

Sebastien can only lie there stunned after Joe pulls away. Both men patiently wait for him to speak. The weight of his jealousy and loneliness and (most of all) guilt is still crushing, but there's a new lightness in his chest that he can't believe he deserves. "I-I _don't..._ " 

"The only thing you can say to stop this would be to say you don't want us," Nicky says. 

"I don't deserve this." 

Joe's hand falls on Book's chest and begins making soothing circles. "We will just have to convince you, then." 

"The two of us killed each other many times in gruesome and hateful ways," Nicky says, his face incongruously fond as he looks at both Booker and Joe. "We are good at forgiving. We will teach you how to be, too."

**Author's Note:**

> What was hard and took at least 3 attempts was getting a happy ending. I feel like I just had to throw out Booker and Joe talking more about Book's betrayal. Know what was easy? Writing a drunk melancholic Frenchman's diary entry. Here are a couple more from his search for death that led to Copley and Merrick and the aftermath that I ended up not including in the story:
> 
> _"Whatever ties that bind us to life on Earth cannot be severed by my hand. The priests of many faiths cannot cure me. I fear science is my last resort. It is a new religion and, like the old ones, there are zealots hiding their greed and sadism behind fronts of good works. How can I find a place with the correct minds, tools, and motivations?"  
> ...  
> "What have I done? Led the wolves to the doors of my brothers. Can the betrayer be also one betrayed? No, it was only my hubris which has led to this catastrophe.  
> "I have damned them to the hell I was seeking for myself. Put their hearts in a cage. Mine is gone from my chest as well."_


End file.
